The End
by Lantarmiel
Summary: It's all come down to this: The Boy Who Lived and The Dark Lord, battling for the fate of the Wizarding World. A Horcrux!Harry fic, without Harry dying.


The End by Lantarmiel 

**A/N**: Well, here we go. I finished HBP last summer and just had to write this to offset the pessimism about the possibility of Harry being a Horcrux and having to die.

**Disclaimer**: I own none of this. I just play with them.

Harry threw himself against the wall, diving away from the green bolt of light. Seven pieces of Voldemort's soul, and he had only destroyed five! There was still one out there—he never had found anything belonging to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.

The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, and the snake had all been found and destroyed—the first three before he had even set out on this mission. The locket had left him a clue—RAB. RAB… Regulus Alphard Black. He had, in fact, destroyed it before his death, leaving behind the locket in Kreacher's cache of Black family heirlooms. He had tracked down Hufflepuff's cup, and Nagini lay dead across the room. But… where was the last Horcrux?

He could tell that without five sevenths of his soul, Voldemort was weakening. But even if he could kill the wretched body before it killed him, there would remain, somewhere, a piece of Voldemort's soul for him to return to. Was he doomed to Dumbledore's fate? Always postponing evil's takeover, but never ending it once and for all.

He couldn't be. There was a prophecy!

_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…_

His equal. Upon the same level.

But 'equal' and 'enemy' are not the same. He must have been marked not just as the one to defeat Voldemort, but… with equal powers. Those of a Parselmouth, and the scar. How could he have gotten those powers if something more than love and a curse were not involved? A part of Voldemort.

He couldn't have. So that meant…

He was the last Horcrux. The curse that had backfired that fateful night had ripped a part of Voldemort's soul out of him, and placed it into a small child, marking him with a scar and some of the powers the owner of the soul had. The deaths used had been those of his parents.

So that was how he had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. He could destroy the last Horcrux by killing himself, and leaving Voldemort a mortal man with a broken soul—someone an Auror could kill.

_Neither can live while the other survives…_

That was why Voldemort had not ordered every Death Eater to kill him on sight. Once Harry died, Voldemort would become mortal again. Harry needed to be alive. But if Harry decided to end his own life, he could not vanquish Voldemort anyway. But that didn't make a difference. Harry Potter had to die for the cause.

And he was ready. Strangely enough, he was ready to die. Ready to sacrifice his own life for Ron and Hermione, and the family that they would have. For Neville and Luna, the boy who could have been standing in his place and the girl who had never had a true friend before him. For Draco Malfoy, the teenaged boy who had been thrust into a job he was not ready for. For the entire Weasley family, even Percy.

And for James, Lily, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, and everyone else who had died to give him the chance to get this far. He would not let them all down—he would do as much damage to Voldemort as possible before destroying the last Horcrux.

He glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on the archway around which they had been battling. Perfect. It seemed fitting, almost, that he should take his own life at the same place Sirius lost his.

"_Reducto_!" he cried, shattering the wall next to Voldemort, distracting him as the young man darted towards the archway, feeling the scabbard of Gryffindor's sword heavy against his leg. He saw the ragged curtain flutter in front of him, saw the dark figure with slits for eyes that was his nemesis.

"Don't hide from me. You know that you haven't got a chance to defeat me. Even a Mudblood-lover such as yourself ought to be able to figure out that you have to die before I can. So, let me kill you. And **this** time… no mother of yours can die for you. None of your little friends can protect you, either. This time, you are totally alone," hissed Voldemort in Parseltongue

"SHUT UP!" cried Harry. "Leave everyone else out of it. Yeah, I know that I'm the last Horcrux. But you know what? I'm willing to die to save everyone else. Die so that someone else can kill you, or let a Dementor kiss you, if you have any soul left to suck out. But I WILL NOT let you kill me!"

And with that, he took a deep breath and stepped forwards through the veil…

…And out the other side. Harry glanced around—what had happened? He'd gone through the veil, just like Sirius had. Was it the gateway to another universe that looked just like the real one?

No, Voldemort still stood in front of him, wand brandished.

_It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities._

He had chosen to cross the veil. He had chosen death, chosen to sacrifice himself. So, he had beaten it, and lived. Strange, that such a simple thing should accomplish a goal twice—it was like finding the Sorcerer's Stone.

But now what was he supposed to do?

A twinge of pain in his chest made him glance down, to see a small section of an orb in front of him—a fragment of Voldemort's soul.

Because Voldemort hadn't chosen to die, and that had separated his soul from Harry. Now it could be destroyed.

Harry smiled, opening his arms and walking forwards. "Go on, then. Kill me."

And the curse came. Time seemed to slow down as the green light shot towards him, coupled with those terrifying words—

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

And Harry hadn't misjudged. The spell connected with the small silvery soul, which promptly turned green, black cracks appearing in it as it glowed.

Then it shattered, causing a shock wave that threw Harry to the ground and Voldemort against the wall.

The diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the snake, and Harry. Six fragments of a soul, destroyed. And yet, both wizards lived.

Voldemort seemed genuinely frightened now. Mortality was a concept he hadn't dealt with for several decades, and now he was faced with a very real possibility of fighting for his life.

Shaking off the weakness he felt, Harry glanced down at where the soul had been moments before. His robes had been torn open, and a gash had formed on his chest.

How fitting. It was another lightning bolt.

He stood up, turning his attention to the slightly panicked Voldemort. "You know what the prophecy says, Tom. You and I cannot coexist unless both of us walk away. But I am not going to do that. I'm going to fulfill the prophecy, and kill you."

Voldemort pointed his wand at Harry, attempting to cast a spell. The only result was a shower of green sparks.

"You're almost as badly off as if a Dementor had kissed you, now. You're not Lord Voldemort anymore. You're Tom Riddle. A half blood, like me. You're almost a squib, without your soul to give you power. And I'm going to kill you, not because I have to, but because I want to. That's why I'm going to win. Because I am going to kill you for _me_." He trained his wand on Tom, stepping closer. "For me, but also for my dad and mum, and Sirius, and Dumbledore, and poor innocent Cedric Diggory. Because I loved them. That's what I have. I have far more reason to kill you than you me, so I'm going to do it."

"Your cause is too righteous to kill me," Tom panted, his voice sounding far away. "You don't have it in you to kill."

"Bloody watch me," Harry growled. He dropped his wand to the ground and drew a silver and ruby sword from his side. With a wordless cry, Gryffindor's sword slew Slytherin's heir, severing his head neatly.

Harry's wand lay shattered on the ground, as did Riddle's. The two feathers burst into flame and vanished.

All was silent for a moment, before Harry gasped, dropped the sword, and collapsed.


End file.
